


i took all your pictures off the wall and wrapped them in newspaper blankets

by notthebigspoon



Series: Silver Side Up [2]
Category: Baseball RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-28
Updated: 2012-07-28
Packaged: 2017-11-10 21:29:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/470887
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notthebigspoon/pseuds/notthebigspoon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim doesn't like the feeling that he's not in control of his own life. When everyone changes his life and world view without checking with him first, it nearly breaks him. </p><p>Title taken from The Crow & The Butterfly by Shinedown.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i took all your pictures off the wall and wrapped them in newspaper blankets

When Tim arrives to the park, he has his ear buds in and he's humming along to MGMT, dancing his way down the hall to the clubhouse. There's a niggling thought in the back of his mind that something is wrong, but a louder part of his brain has taken over. The part that decides, yeah, playing baseball for a living is cool and all, but it probably would have been pretty badass to be Tony Stark when he grew up too.

He's glad he's never met Robert Downey Jr. There's no doubt that he would embarrass himself severely.

Embarrassment appears to be on the menu anyway, seeing as how he crashes head first into Bochy. He stares up, eyes wide and scrambling for an excuse for himself and knowing he's doomed, he should have been more careful, he should have watched where he was going. It almost knocks him on his ass when Bochy just shakes his head and points over his shoulder, silently telling Tim to get his ass in there.

It's kind of a relief and he scurries past to hide in his locker, as much as he can anyways. He stows his ear buds and his phone, double checking it and frowning when he only has messages from his dad and Stew. He hasn't heard from Nick once, not when he got home from the game last night or when he woke up this morning and that's just not right, that's not how things go. It's thrown his whole routine off.

And just as strange is Whitey yanking him in for a one armed hug. Not that that would have been all that weird in the past but him and Eli just aren't that close anymore.

“Timmy! Gimme some love.”

Tim eyes him suspiciously. “What's going on?”

“Can't I just hug my favorite pitcher?” Eli asks, wide eyed and the picture of innocence. Tim isn't buying it.

“Sanchez is your favorite pitcher.”

“My favorite Giants pitcher.”

“I don't know what your angle is...”

Tim doesn't get to finish, because he sees Pablo come inside and he's still so angry because he thought Pablo was his friend, thought Bengie was his friend, and they've left him high and dry like he means nothing at all. He's gripped by a flash of fear that maybe Nick was right, maybe he's screwed up so badly that no one's going to give a shit anymore. He shrugs out of Eli's grip and turns back to his locker to dress for the game.

Maybe that's why Nick hasn't called. Maybe he's just fucked up one too many times, one too many losses.

There's no trying to say the right things or punch the right shoulders, just shuffling through the tunnel and out to the field. It's cool and windy, he can feel his hair ruffling around in it and he frowns, pulling his hat down and flipping his hood up. He spares a moment to glare at the visiting players that are in his line of sight, a safe target for his ire, before he's stepping into the dugout and huddling back against the wall.

Like a security blanket, the string of his hoodie ends up in his mouth and he chews on it, feeling anxious and wishing he knew why. Whitey keeps glancing at him and winking, and Pablo is steadfastly refusing to acknowledge him at all. It's only extreme willpower that keeps him from running back to the clubhouse to check his phone. He's got a sinking feeling in his stomach that there's not going to be anything from anybody.

After the game, after a crushing loss, the first thing he does when he gets to the clubhouse is check his phone. There's no messages. Suddenly the loss isn't the only thing that's crushing him.

***

For days, that's how it goes. He gets messages, calls, but none of it from anyone he really wants to talk to. Bengie and Pablo still haven't said a word to him and he refuses to give in and go crawling back, refuses to show them how weak he is.

And Nick... Tim figures this is only about what he deserves. Nick was always telling him that he could do better, that he _should_ do better instead of wasting everyone's time. Nick doesn't answer his phone or texts. It's a week before Tim swallows his pride and drives to Nick's house. He takes in the sight of Nick's completely trashed car with wide eyes, stepping around it and creeping up the steps of the porch.

He can hear the TV inside, smiles a little to himself, and raises his hand to knock, three times before falling back. He can hear the volume of the tv lowered and just barely hears footsteps. And then nothing. For ages it seems like there's not a sound, Tim straining his ears and then he hears it. Footsteps leading away from the door. 

A sob rises in his throat, and he wants to bang on the door again, to beg Nick to just listen to him. He wants to promise he'll do better, he'll drag himself out of the slump no matter what it takes as long as Nick won't just throw him away.

He doesn't. Something won't let him, something forces him to walk past the trashed car and climb into his Mercedes to go home, where at least Cy will be happy to see him.

If he sporadically sobs on the way home, well, there's no one around to rat him out.

***

When Nick wordlessly dumps him, Tim wants nothing to do with the world. He focuses every spare second he has that he isn't playing on training. He answers the phone when his dad calls, only about half of the time but that was more than he had been doing. Everyone else he just tunes out and pretends they don't exist anymore. There is nothing but Tim and baseball in the universe.

Except Whiteside. Fucking Eli can't take a hint that he's not wanted and that Tim hates everyone and everything. 

And the others start taking notes from Eli. They notice that in spite of how prickly Tim has been in the past couple months, he's not pushing Whiteside away or ignoring him and that probably makes him safe to approach again. He wonders what they chalk it up to and decides he doesn't care. They're not his problem and his problems certainly aren't their business.

“You're in my fucking way, Timmy.”

Tim blinks owlishly up at Pablo, who grins broadly and pushes Tim so that he's scooting back against the wall of the dugout. Sandoval sits on the bench at his feet, jostling Tim's legs so that they're just apart enough for him to hook his arms over and get comfortable. He bites his lip uncertainly and his hand goes for the string of his hoodie, only to have Pablo rock back against him.

“Don't chew on that, that's disgusting, you're worse than Yadi's kids. Adrianna, always putting everything in her mouth.” 

Tim drops the string immediately and just stares down at Pablo's head. He's cut his hair, close to his head and Tim pets it for lack of something better to do.

“You been okay?” Pablo asks, and it's quieter this time, only for them to hear.

“Fine.” Tim answers, and he can't help how frigid his voice is. He's not angry really, but he's still hurt that his friends gave up on him.

“Things with Trujillo?”

“He dumped me... I guess. I haven't heard from him in weeks.” Tim answers, and that doesn't hurt as much as it used to. It's a subject he doesn't want to touch on too much but he feels safer, relieved. Hindsight being 20/20, there had only been a few slaps but it terrifies him to think of how much worse it could have gotten and what would have happened if it had.

“I wish I could say I was sorry to hear that but I'm not. He was bad for you Timmy. You deserve better. I know you don't think so, but you do.”

For minutes, there's nothing but the scattered bits of conversation from the other guys and the sound of BP being conducted. Pablo's hand comes up and blindly reaches for Tim's head, patting what he can reach. Tim wants to be spiteful, wants to yank back and punish Pablo by starving him of the affection Tim's wanted so desperately for himself the past few weeks.

Instead, he pushes his head into it and squeezes his eyes shut to force back any tears that are threatening. He hadn't known how much he'd missed this and honestly, the only thing stopping him from climbing down and hugging Pablo as tight as he can is knowing there's cameras everywhere. He can imagine the field day tumblr and twitter are going to have with what's going on right now anyways and manages to laugh a little, smile.

“You know people are gonna talk, right? When they see pictures of this. What's Yadi going to say?”

“Probably going to call you my new sugar daddy.” Pablo answers serenely, dropping his arm back down and squeezing Tim's leg. “I'm gonna tell you something, and you've gotta try not to flip out too much.”

“That's never a good way to change the subject but go ahead.”

“We trashed Trujillo's car. Me, Whiteside and Sanchez. Jonathan, not Hector, he was in town for a booty call with Whitey. But uh... I sort of fessed up to Whiteside what me and Bengie had done because I didn't know what else to do and he kind of caught me puking over it. But he got mad, like super pissed, so we went and trashed Trujillo's car and threatened to trash him if he didn't leave you alone. Beat him to a pulp, nothing but mush and blood.”

“Ew.”

Pablo tenses before turning around and staring wide eyed at Tim. “Ew? I tell you all of that and ew is all you have to say?”

“Blood is nasty. I hate blood.” Tim smiles, because yeah he should be angry but instead there s relief. Relief that Pablo hadn't hated him, that the guys loved him enough to commit property damage and threaten to assault someone on his behalf. He leans forward and rests his chin on Pablo's head, hugging him loosely before mumbling, “Thank you.”

Pablo just grins and gives him a onearmed hug in return.

There's a collective 'awwww' from Lopez, Affeldt and Cain.

***

Y. Molina: I saw the pictures. Nice Panda you've got there.

Lincecum: It's a rental. Borrowed it from some asshole.

Y. Molina: Wash it before you give it back. I don't want the Lincecum stink on it.

Lincecum: ┌∩┐(◣_◢)┌∩┐


End file.
